The King of Satire

"Sir,"

and he nods in acknowledgement,

"I don't drink."

He raises an eyebrow,

a twinkle I mistake for

curiosity when he is actually

amused.

"What do you wish

to talk about,

why have you roused

my rest?"

"There are things

that I can't place,

that I can't seem to

settle," and he

chuckles at the sentiment

of family,

hums at the possibility of

love, and he becomes serious

at the notion of

time travel.

"Now that is a

secret, such as is the

rest of life," he raises the glass

to my lips, "the best

we can do

is live" and he presses

me to

drink.